


Unlikely Likeness

by 1000001nights



Series: Tales From Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Skyhold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 10:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4603479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000001nights/pseuds/1000001nights





	Unlikely Likeness

“You get paid to kill magisters and slavers?”

Fenris, Krem, and the Iron Bull were sitting at a table in the low light of The Herald’s Rest. A bottle passed between them, another lying empty on the table, as they traded stories and tales. The elf had become fast friends with Krem over less than a day, the pair bonding over their shared animosity against the land that had rejected them, for various reasons. Bull sat beside Fenris, and watching them, felt like he was sitting beside a mirror.  
They sat opposite each other, both leaning back in their seats, one hand on the table, waiting to receive the bottle, or holding it before taking a swig. When one laughed, so did the other. When Fenris pounded the table in excitement, Krem would slam a hand down in agreement. Bull hadn’t seen Krem so pleased in a long while. He was pleased, too.

“It’s extra for magisters,” Krem joked, passing the bottle back to Fenris. “Not many of those around these days, anyway.”

“Not a good time to be a magister,” Bull said, “what with Corypheus and all.”

“It’s never a good time to be a magister,” Fenris growled, a savage grin on his face.

“Killed many yourself?” Krem asked.

“Not many,” Fenris said. “Just one.” 

“Sounds like a story,” Bull said eagerly.

“His name was Danarius.” It was all Fenris said, but it was all he needed to say. Bull and Krem could tell from the look on his face that he had a deep connection to the name, and whatever kind of man had owned it, and their history wasn’t good.

“Mostly we don’t learn their names,” Bull said. “You’ll have to get used to that if you ever wanted to sign on. We could always use an elf who can tear a man’s heart out through his chest.”

“Is that true?” Krem asked, taking a swig of the drink.

“The lyrium in my skin gives me abilities,” Fenris said. “I didn’t ask for them, but I’ve always used them. Mostly for others, now only for me.”

“Sounds like you really had it out for this Danarius guy,” Bull said.

“I knew him,” Fenris said. He fell silent then, and Krem slid the bottle over to him. He took a long swig. It was a qunari draught of Bull’s invention, one often shared by the Chargers. Fenris didn’t blink twice at the stiff concoction. He’d had worse.

“My family was owned by a magister,” Krem said. “He didn’t treat us too bad. Most of the time, he barely acknowledged we were there. That was the worst part.”

“Everyone in Tevinter thinks they’re better than everyone else,” Fenris said. “That’s the thing about mages. They grow up believing they’re special.”

“I’m glad to be out,” Krem said. “It’s better here.” Bull nodded, and grabbed the bottle out of Krem’s hand before he could drink. “You might consider staying.”

“I have business to take care of,” Fenris said dourly. “If I don’t protect people, no one else will.”

“I hear that,” Bull said.

“But…” Fenris considered long and hard before speaking again, and Bull passed him the bottle to fill the empty time. The elf took a long swig, and when he put the bottle down, it was empty.

“These are good people you have here,” Fenris said. A smile threatened to cross his face, but he seemed to quash it out of habit.

“The Chargers are a good bunch. Reliable, brave, stubborn as a bronto.” Krem grabbed at the bottle, and threatened to toss it at Bull’s horns. “Inquisition’s not bad either,” he added with a grin.

“I’d forgotten what it was like to travel with reliable people,” Fenris said. “It’s been a long time since Kirkwall.”

“What was it like there?” Krem asked, leaning in. The drink was getting to him, and his words were beginning to slur a little.  
“It wasn’t good,” Fenris said. “Mages, blood magic everywhere. And the Templars were no better.”

“Some things never change,” Bull said. He got to his feet gingerly, careful not to let his horns scrape the low ceiling. “I’ll get another bottle. Something hotter. Put that Tevinter-killing money to good use.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Fenris said.

He and Krem watched Bull go, lumbering past the roaring hearth and the minstrel, Maryden, who plucked gently on her instrument and sang in a soft, pleasant voice. “Your commander is a good man,” Fenris said.

“Bull does more than he has to for others,” Krem said. He looked across the table at Fenris, and took the elf’s face in. It looked scarred in the dying light, the shadows licking along the hard edges, the furrowed brow. He had hurt in his past, and anger in his future, but he had some of that familiar quality in him, the goodness that made Bull a good leader, a good friend. “When you get back to Tevinter, if you ever need somewhere to go, you can count on The Bull’s Chargers.”

Krem reached his hand across the table. He wasn’t sure the elf would go for it, but it was an offering. Everyone needed a hand offered now and again, but it was up to them to take it. To Krem’s surprise, Fenris did. “Thank you,” he said. They held one another’s hands tightly for a moment, as momentary comrades in arms, before releasing just as Bull arrived.

“You’re gonna like this one, elf,” Bull said. “Maybe it’ll give you enough strength to beat me next time we have a little challenge.”

“You know who you’re speaking to, right chief?” Krem said, laughing to himself. “This is Fenris, Magister-Slayer!”

“With those arms?” Bull said, repeating his jibe from earlier.

"I’ll beat you again if I have to,” Fenris said. Bull let out one, roaring bark of a laugh. “Ha!”

“Sounds like a challenge to me,” Krem said. Fenris let his eyes fall on the lieutenant.

“I’d like to see what you can do,” he said.

Bull laughed. “You’re in for it now, Krem.”

They finished the drink in three long swigs, and cleared out of the tavern as the song changed its tune. The night was cold, but by the end of it, under the weights, and the shouting, and the heat of the ale, all three of them were sweating. It was a good night.

***

Later, Fenris found himself stumbling in through the doors to the great hall. The moon was out, and the castle was asleep, but to his surprise, he found Varric huddled in a chair by the hearth, a quill in one hand, and a collection of papers strewn across the table in front of him. “Are you still doing that?” Fenris drawled.  
“What? Writing?” Varric snickered. “No, Broody. Just a little in my spare time.”

Fenris grunted, and stood by awkwardly as both men waited for the other to speak. The hall had all but emptied, and the two old friends were alone for the first time in what felt like years. “Been a long time,” Varric said. “Making friends here?”

“Don’t mock me, dwarf,” Fenris said. Varric could’ve sworn the elf’s lyrium tattoos started to glow.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Varric said. “You look like you need a rest.”

Fenris grunted again, and started past the dwarf to the door on his right. He opened it, but couldn’t bring himself to go through. “It’s… good to see you, Varric,” he said quietly.

“You too, wolfie,” Varric said with a smile. Fenris disappeared like an embarrassed child, and Varric went back to his writing. He chuckled, and said quietly to himself, “I probably shouldn’t write that down.” Then, when no other words came to him, he did anyway. Fenris wouldn’t mind. He always liked Varric’s stories.


End file.
